Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series) (37 page)

Others had come to grips with their
circumstances too: a man and his two teenage sons had set up a
carpentry business; two retired couples who’d been visiting Cardiff
for the day had moved back to their own village and were living
relatively comfortably on the beach (thanks to a stipend from Dad
that all the passengers were being given); even George Hardin had
found a kindred spirit in Tudur and was helping Dad run his
country.

But that left a number of people doing less
well. Several college students, two of them Americans spending
their junior year abroad, were having a terrible time adjusting to
the restrictions of the Middle Ages. Cassie and Bronwen were trying
to work with them, but Mark was not the only one whose life had
been lived at the computer. Others were outright malcontented: a
couple in their fifties; a family with a rebellious teenage
daughter; and three twenty-something men, one of whom was Mike,
who’d caused trouble that first day on the bus. These eight spent
their days moping about Mom’s castle at Caerphilly, doing little
but drinking to excess. Dad had proffered his very medieval
solution to their angst, but Mom was hoping for something more
reasonable from her son.

“
Is that it, Ta?” Arthur
had ridden from Dinas Bran in front of David, tightly gripping the
pommel of the saddle. The words Arthur had spoken at Rhuddlan had
been the beginning of a torrent that rarely ceased. David felt he
should have seen it coming, since he’d never been a child who did
things by half-measure either.

“
My God, it is.” David
helped Arthur down from the horse, all the while staring at the
bus, which took center stage in the middle of the barn. “I didn’t
think they were going to rebuild it.”

The bus looked better than when David had
last seen it. He’d debated whether or not to leave the bus where it
was in the field at Aberglaslyn or move it somehow. Having
mechanically minded people from the modern world available had made
his decision for him. They had not only dismantled the bus, carted
it all the way to Llangollen, and rebuilt it, but they’d done the
same for David’s aunt’s minivan and Bronwen’s little Honda. To see
them lined up, lovingly restored and objects of research and
scrutiny, made David’s heart beat a little faster. This was his
history and his future. And his son’s.

Everything David had done and said these
last four months had been bent on securing that future, initially
in Wales and then in England, as the aftereffects of the rebellion
were felt.

As David had predicted, Rhys ap Maredudd had
pleaded the innocence of youth as an excuse for his sons’
behavior—and denied his own guilt. But unlike past insurrections,
Rhys had gone on bended knee to plead not before the king but
before the Welsh Parliament. The members of the Parliament,
however, had remained unmoved. Rhys had lost his lands and his
life. Dad had called it justice. Mom had sighed and said that some
men couldn’t escape their fate. And Lili, ever practical, had
declared it necessary.

David couldn’t disagree with any of their
assessments, but his vision for the future—of Avalon made real—was
forcing him to narrow his focus and look even more closely at every
decision he made. And while sometimes an ending seemed like fate or
necessity, it was justice that had to be David’s guide if he was to
safely travel the treacherous road before him.

Arthur ran straight for the bus, pressing
his small hands to the metal side as if it would give way if he
pushed hard enough. But the doors were on the other side, and he
wasn’t getting very far with his efforts.

“
Come with me.” David
tipped his head to indicate the direction he was going, and Arthur
raced around the bus ahead of him.

All the children had come on this excursion.
Bringing them, in fact, had been practically the whole point. The
parents had decided it was time to show them—and tell them—as much
of the truth about their origins as they could bear. They’d
resolved to answer every question the children asked to the best of
their ability, no matter how long it took or how outrageous the
question.

By now, everyone else had dismounted too,
even Dad—with all his former grace. He’d recovered from his
injuries and, as always, looked younger than his years. Mom had
commented just yesterday that her husband’s workout regimen would
put a twenty-year-old’s to shame. But though David hadn’t said as
much to his father, they’d both been tempered by the experience at
Aberglaslyn. As far as David was concerned, that had been his
father’s last battle.

Gwenllian held Elisa’s hand, and the two
girls followed David to the front door of the bus. It was the one
that had become stuck during the crash but was now restored to its
former glory.

One by one, the children scrambled
inside.

Lili came up behind David and put her arms
around his waist. He reached out an arm, and she ducked under it so
he could pull her closer.

“
Are they okay to do that?”
she said, her eyes following the progress of the children down the
aisle. Arthur and Cadell had climbed onto one of the seats halfway
along. At first the two boys jumped up and down on it, but then
they gave that up in favor of pressing their faces against the
glass window.

David laughed to see it, thinking of the
years he’d ridden a school bus and entertained himself in the same
way. “Yeah.” He kissed his wife’s temple. “They really are.”

The End

Thank you so much for
reading
Ashes of Time.
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After Cilmeri
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Continue reading for the a
sample of
The Good Knight,
the first book in
The
Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mysteries
, set in
twelfth-century Wales
:

Intrigue, suspicion, and rivalry among the
royal princes casts a shadow on the court of Owain, king of north
Wales…

The year is 1143 and King Owain seeks to
unite his daughter in marriage with an allied king. But when the
groom is murdered on the way to his wedding, the bride’s brother
tasks his two best detectives—Gareth, a knight, and Gwen, the
daughter of the court bard—with bringing the killer to justice.

And once blame for the murder falls on
Gareth himself, Gwen must continue her search for the truth alone,
finding unlikely allies in foreign lands, and ultimately uncovering
a conspiracy that will shake the political foundations of
Wales.

Sample: The Good Knight

Chapter One

August, 1143 AD

Gwynedd (North Wales)

“
L
ook at you, girl.”

Gwen’s father, Meilyr, tsked under his
breath and brought his borrowed horse closer to her side of the
path. He’d been out of sorts since early morning when he’d found
his horse lame and King Anarawd and his company of soldiers had
left the castle without them, refusing to wait for Meilyr to find a
replacement mount. Anarawd’s men-at-arms would have provided Meilyr
with the fine escort he coveted.

“
You’ll have no cause for
complaint once we reach Owain Gwynedd’s court.” A breeze wafted
over Gwen’s face and she closed her eyes, letting her pony find his
own way for a moment. “I won’t embarrass you at the
wedding.”

“
If you cared more for your
appearance, you would have been married yourself years ago and
given me grandchildren long since.”

Gwen opened her eyes, her forehead wrinkling
in annoyance. “And whose fault is it that I’m unmarried?” Her
fingers flexed about the reins but she forced herself to relax. Her
present appearance was her own doing, even if her father found it
intolerable. In her bag, she had fine clothes and ribbons to weave
through her hair, but saw no point in sullying any of them on the
long journey to Aber Castle.

King Owain Gwynedd’s daughter was due to
marry King Anarawd in three days’ time. Owain Gwynedd had invited
Gwen, her father, and her almost twelve-year old brother,
Gwalchmai, to furnish the entertainment for the event, provided
King Owain and her father could bridge the six years of animosity
and silence that separated them. Meilyr had sung for King Owain’s
father, Gruffydd; he’d practically raised King Owain’s son, Hywel.
But six years was six years. No wonder her father’s temper was
short.

Even so, she couldn’t let her father’s
comments go. Responsibility for the fact that she had no husband
rested firmly on his shoulders. “Who refused the contract?”

“
Rhys was a rapscallion and
a laze-about,” Meilyr said.

And you weren’t about to give up your
housekeeper, maidservant, cook, and child-minder to just anyone,
were you?

But instead of speaking,
Gwen bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. She’d said it
once and received a slap to her face. Many nights she’d lain quiet
beside her younger brother, regretting that she hadn’t defied her
father and stayed with Rhys. They could have eloped; in seven
years, their marriage would have been as legal as any other. But
her father was right and Gwen wasn’t too proud to admit it:
Rhys
had
been a
laze-about. She wouldn’t have been happy with him. Rhys’ father had
almost cried when Meilyr had refused Rhys’ offer. It wasn’t only
daughters who were sometimes hard to sell.

“
Father!” Gwalchmai brought
their cart to a halt. “Come look at this!”

“
What now?” Meilyr said.
“We’ll have to spend the night at Caerhun at present rate. You know
how important it is not to keep King Owain waiting.”

“
But Father!” Gwalchmai
leapt from the cart and ran forward.

“
He’s serious.” Gwen urged
her pony after him, passing the cart, and then abruptly reined in
beside her brother. “
Mary, Mother of
God
…”

A slight rise and sudden dip in the path
ahead had hidden the carnage until they were upon it. Twenty men
and an equal number of horses lay dead in the road, their bodies
contorted and their blood soaking the brown earth. Gwalchmai bent
forward and retched into the grass beside the road. Gwen’s stomach
threatened to undo her too, but she fought the bile down and
dismounted to wrap her arms around her brother.

Meilyr reined in beside his children. “Stay
back.”

Gwen glanced at her father and then back to
the scene, noticing for the first time a man kneeling among the
wreckage, one hand to a dead man’s chest and the other resting on
the hilt of his sheathed sword. The man straightened and Gwen’s
breath caught in her throat.

Gareth.

He’d cropped his dark brown hair shorter
than when she’d known him, but his blue eyes still reached into the
core of her. Her heart beat a little faster as she drank him in.
Five years ago, Gareth had been a man-at-arms in the service of
Prince Cadwaladr, King Owain Gwynedd’s brother. Gareth and Gwen had
become friends, and then more than friends, but before he could ask
her father for her hand, Gareth had a falling out with Prince
Cadwaladr. In the end, Gareth hadn’t been able to persuade Meilyr
that he could support her despite his lack of station.

Gwen was so focused on Gareth that she
wasn’t aware of the other men among them—live ones—until they
approached her family. A half dozen converged on them at the same
time. One caught her upper arm in a tight grip. Another grabbed
Meilyr’s bridle. “Who are you?” the soldier said.

Meilyr stood in the stirrups and pointed a
finger at Gareth. “Tell them who I am!”

Gareth came forward, his eyes flicking from
Meilyr to Gwalchmai to Gwen. He was broader in the shoulders, too,
than she remembered.

“
They are friends,” Gareth
said. “Release them.”

And to Gwen’s astonishment, the man-at-arms
who held her obeyed Gareth. Could it be that in the years since
she’d last seen him, Gareth had regained something of what he’d
lost?

Gareth halted by Meilyr’s horse. “I was sent
from Aber to meet King Anarawd and escort him through Gwynedd. He
wasn’t even due to arrive at Dolwyddelan Castle until today, but …”
He gestured to the men on the ground. “Clearly, we were too
late.”

Gwen looked past Gareth to the murdered men
in the road.